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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26744005">Mordred Lives a Life of Never-ending Misery ft. Saber Prototype</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsage7/pseuds/Hatsage7'>Hatsage7</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mordred and Saberfaces [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Gen, Gender Identity, by which i mean... sparring and some cursing. v tame, not based on art for a change (if you can believe it), this is the Gender fic cuz you GOTTA do that with Mordred, yeah that's right babey!!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:15:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26744005</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsage7/pseuds/Hatsage7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordred meets the strangest, most odd, downright *unnatural* version of her father yet: a *MAN*.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mordred | Saber of Red &amp; Arthur Pendragon | Saber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mordred and Saberfaces [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ...Huh?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i'm incapable of judging whether or not these are coherent anymore, let alone in-character. but... y'all keep readin' 'em!! have fun!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>             Mordred was prowling the halls of Chaldea, as usual, hoping for something or someone to pop up and give her something to deal with. This usually rewarded her with one of the more restless Servants to antagonize, Berserkers and Avengers and even just especially rowdy Servants that were less like knights and more akin to mercenaries. That Japanese swordswoman with a thing for Udon was a <em> real </em> character, even if Mordred hadn't gotten her to agree to a sparring match yet ...</p><p> </p><p>             She was a little disappointed to see an ordinary blonde man appearing around the corner at the end of the hallway. Mordred immediately pegged him as an upstanding, unremarkable warrior, probably a Saber judging by the pride with which he carried himself, the weapon on his hip, the gleaming silver armor and the Royal blue raiment…</p><p> </p><p>             Wait a second. </p><p> </p><p>             Mordred slowed her pace and really looked at the man's face, now that they were only a few lengths away from each other. His hair was golden blonde, as yellow and bright as the sun. His eyes were green, and they were currently focused upon her since she had slowed to a crawl and begun to size him up. There was the faintest glimmer of recognition in them, and as they swept down to her hip and saw Clarent there, they widened in surprise. She did the same, and saw a comically oversized scabbard at his side painted a golden yellow with blue lines lacing up and down the middle. He stopped in his tracks and looked at her with an expression of absolute bewilderment.</p><p> </p><p>             He spoke in a calm voice with the confidence of a king, even as his tone gave away his confusion. "Mordred?"</p><p> </p><p>             She swallowed. There was only one real conclusion to make, even as she made one last attempt to deny it. "...father?"</p><p> </p><p>             They stood there, silently blinking at each other as they steadfastly refused to grab the hilt of their swords. It was… the man who spoke first. "And here I had thought that being summoned to fight alongside Cu Culainn and his three look-alikes would be the strangest thing about my time here."</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred shrugged. "Pretty fucking stupid of you to think that, then."</p><p> </p><p>             He nodded in begrudging agreement. "Pretty stupid, yes. At the risk of asking an equally stupid question: why are you a girl…?"</p><p> </p><p>             "Why are you a man?" she spat, a little more venomous than she wanted it to be.</p><p> </p><p>             The other Saber raised a hand to his head in defeat. "Fair enough. Um." He stared at the ground for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "It's nice to meet you?" He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>             "Same here, I guess." Mordred tried to think of a response that would make things a little less awkward. "Say, um… what's your name, exactly? Mine's Mordred. I mean -- you knew that, b-but it's <em> still </em> Mordred. Is what I meant."</p><p> </p><p>             She got a dismissive wave in response. "Oh... I have so many titles." He rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't seem to realize that he hadn't answered her question.</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred tried to masculinize Artoria's name in her head. "Is it… <em> Arthur </em> Pendragon?"</p><p> </p><p>             Her father sucked in air through his teeth. "Call me dad."</p><p> </p><p>             Yeah, she would just rather be stabbed in the chest again. "Well, nice meeting you, but I had really better get going," she said in a string of rapid muttering, turning around and all but sprinting away.</p><p> </p><p>             "H-hold on a moment! Are you busy?"</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred looked back over her shoulder, her face crumpling in consternation. "Kind of…? I've got training, probably."</p><p> </p><p>             "Would you mind sparring with me for a while, instead? I'd take the blame if our Master was upset."</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred ran her fingers through her hair. She did genuinely like sparring with other Servants, and she wasn't actually needed for any of today's missions, but she'd sooner rather eat her own sword than spend another minute languishing in awkward small talk with her male father -- and damn, was that a weird clarification to have to make.</p><p> </p><p>             The other Saber rubbed his chin thoughtfully before driving his fist into his palm decisively. "I promise not to hold back. And I'd be willing to bet that my Excalibur is the same as you're used to, even if nothing else is."</p><p>             A grin split Mordred's face. "How could I say no? C'mon, I know the way to the Anti-Fortress-proofed room."</p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>             "So you mean to say that Merlin is a <em> man </em> here?" The blue Saber lifted his sword into the air, blocking Mordred's earth-shattering blow and pushing back to launch her into the air.</p><p>             She soared through the air in a long, graceful backflip. “Uh, yeah, natch’. Does that mean yours was female? I honestly can’t imagine anything more dangerous than Merlin with breasts.” Her feet slammed into the tile floor with a cratering thud, and she strained her calf muscles to propel herself back towards the other Saber with all the speed and force of a runaway train.</p><p> </p><p>             “You have no idea,” Arthur replied calmly as he braced himself and slammed his sword into Mordred’s, pausing their conversation as a percussive blast of wind exploded out from their clash. “In time, all the knights of my table learned to fear the cry of “Ara ara~” as it echoed down the halls.” He stepped to the side and tried to cleave Mordred at the waist, but she backstepped just in the nick of time, the tip of the arc narrowly grazing her armored skirt. “She’s a lot like that one… Eastern purple Berserker?” </p><p> </p><p>             “Oh, yeah, “Mama” Raikou. The one with long hair who looks at master both like her own son and like a really juicy tenderloin?” She kicked out with her foot, which Arthur avoided by hopping into the air. She pressed the advantage by swinging the flat of Clarent hard enough into Excalibur to swat her opponent into the far wall, kicking up a mass of dust and shards on impact.</p><p> </p><p>             The combat stopped for a moment while he extricated himself from the dent he had put into the wall. “Urgh, yeah, but instead of the threat of a hug that could shatter a boulder, there’s the knowledge that this woman could disintegrate you with a snap of her fingers instead. Nice foreswing, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>             “Weeeell, sometimes you need to be a swordsman, and sometimes you need an unbreakable two by four, know what I mean?”</p><p> </p><p>             He smiled, threatening an outright smirk. “I prefer to think of it as a racquet rather than a… two by four,” he said experimentally, tasting the word he had in his vocabulary but had never seen fit to use before and finding it inoffensive, “but I adore the sentiment.” </p><p> </p><p>             He dashed forward, aiming to drive the tip of his sword up and under Mordred’s ribcage, but she slashed an arc at the ground beneath her feet to kick up a wall of detritus, and he stopped in his tracks. A swing of Excalibur summoned a gale-force strength burst of air, and suddenly Mordred was tumbling back with her own impromptu smokescreen clouding her vision.</p><p> </p><p>             “On the topic of brute strength,” a voice called out as it dived on her from above, giving her just enough time to roll out of the way and spring to her feet, “I was told when summoned to be considerate of “Berserkelot”, along with avoiding certain places at different times of day? Please tell me it doesn’t mean what I think it means.”</p><p> </p><p>             She sighed as she leapt back over to him, pinning her own crossguard on top of his to keep him from unsheathing his sword. “If you think it means that Lancelot, greatest knight in the world, was so badly fucked up after All That that he was summoned as an unyielding rage monster, and everytime he sees someone who looks like -- well, you -- he screams your name and tries to kill them to ease the constant self-inflicted agony he’s in… then yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>             Arthur sighed just as dramatically back, effortlessly checked her with his shoulder, and forced her to take a few steps backwards and throw up her arms as he began to throw a string of punches at her. “No, that’s significantly worse. What <em> happened </em> to the man?”</p><p> </p><p>             “Dude. Are you being serious?”</p><p> </p><p>             “Yes!” he said as he landed a particularly good hook on her gauntlet, breaking her guard and forcing her to dodge around him clumsily. “He may have, well, he may have committed unforgivable acts of adultery and set Camelot rolling on its decline, but I forgave the man! We… reconciled may be too strong a word --”</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred interrupted his train of thought by nearly taking off his head (he was just a little too good at hand-to-hand for her to fight him fairly, so she had resummoned Clarent in her palm.) “Uh, yeah, I’d say so! What fuckin’ natural disaster incurred by the wrath of God could have <em> possibly </em> led the two of you to even come close to kissing and making up?”</p><p> </p><p>             Arthur… did he roll his eyes at her?! She swung at his head again, which he managed to dive under handily and use his momentum to carry him over towards Excalibur. He unsheathed the sword dramatically (predictable.) and pointed at her. “‘Dude. Are <em> you </em> being serious?’”</p><p> </p><p>             She bit her lip. Fuck, that was a pretty decent comeback. “Just shut up and tell me if you’re gonna tell me, asshole.”</p><p> </p><p>             He pinched the bridge of his nose, still standing in the cracked area around where their swords had been driven into. “There was this whole other matter, you may have heard of it, it was called: ‘my son and half-sister took the throne while I wasn’t looking and <em> also </em> tried to steal my wife, the queen, because everything up until that point hadn’t been incestuous enough, starting a <em> second </em> civil war that killed virtually ever knight from the channel to the highlands.’ Does that ring a bell?”</p><p> </p><p>             “Ah,” she said after a moment of silence, and before getting quiet again. “Um, does that mean…?”</p><p> </p><p>             “It means I was exceedingly frail and useless when Gawain prompted me to go after Lancelot, and decades of being out of practice meant I couldn’t even kill him properly. He was alive when I wrote asking him, desperate for any help, to join my army at Camlann Hill.” He shrugged. “Hard to hold a grudge against a man who died for you.”</p><p> </p><p>             ...damn, this had gotten morbid out of nowhere. “Pretty easy for him to still be bitter, though.”</p><p> </p><p>             “...I suppose so.” He stood silent for a moment, then allowed his sword and armor to vanish into a shimmering golden cloud.</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred did the same, after a few too many moments of deliberation. “If, um, it’s any consolation, timeline stuff means he’s not the <em> same </em> Lancelot. Plus, you’re not a woman, so he might not recognize you on sight…?”</p><p> </p><p>             “You managed to. My armor is fairly recognizable, and I doubt that my hooded jacket would be much of a disguise.”</p><p> </p><p>             She had to resist the urge to stick up for the hoodie, because it really was kinda cool. “I had circumstantial advantages. Not being insane was a big help!”</p><p> </p><p>             He looked at her without any humor. Dead air filled the massive room. “This was a mistake. I apologize for being a poor sparring partner.” He walked away, turning his back on her.</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred bristled at the sight. “Hey, don’t be shitty just because you remembered what an asshole king you used to be!” Damn. She was remarkably bad at this. “I-it was cool hearing about other versions of people, like a <em> male </em> Gareth and a <em> female </em> Merlin --” the idea still left a funny taste in her mouth -- “and for what it’s worth, you’re a pretty decent fighter. I kinda figured you were gonna be like Gawain, or flighty, like the other Artorias but slightly more aggressive, but you’re just <em> good </em>, like me. You’re… you, y’know? Who gives a shit about what any version of Lancelot may or may not think of you?”</p><p> </p><p>             He stopped in his tracks, turning over his shoulder to look at her. “Mordred, that’s… I appreciate the sentiment, but not “giving a shit” about what people think of us ruined both of our lives.”</p><p> </p><p>             “Okay, you know what?” She tried to find an argument that would trump a completely 100% true statement. “It wasn’t so much “not giving a shit” as much as callous disregard for me, your son and heir, and the fact that Morgan got her shit sorted out after spending twenty years setting up convoluted death traps for you, Guinevere, and all your knights, and raising me to be your successor without telling you that I existed.”</p><p> </p><p>             “She implied that she would be raising a child to kill and usurp me after tricking me in the same way my father tricked and assaulted her mother.”</p><p> </p><p>             “See? Clearly she was dealing with stuff in not-very constructive ways. The point is… you’re allowed to do what you want -- within reason? -- if you want without stuff from the past dragging you down.” She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “I… liked… kicking your ass today. It was neat, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>             He grinned at her, despite obvious lingering angst. “If you call not outright losing “kicking my ass” -- then yes, I enjoyed it as well.”</p><p> </p><p>             “What’s the problem then? I’m an adult who can compartmentalize her feelings about others; I <em> assume </em> you can too!”</p><p> </p><p>             Arthur raised his hand, walking away to sit at the metal benches bolted to the ground. “Come here. I’m an old man, I need to rest.”</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred obliged, because he had insulted himself, she was maybe a little sore, and she was now invested in what he was going to say. She sat down and waited for him to say something.</p><p> </p><p>             “What are your pronouns?”</p><p> </p><p>             She blinked. “The fuck’s a pronoun?” The question wasn’t genuine (she knew what pronouns were, duh); the confusion was.</p><p> </p><p>             He chuckled, quickly feigning a coughing fit. “You like, or at least don’t object, when I refer to you as my son, as I would with my own Mordred. Unless I imagined it, you <em> didn’t </em> like my calling you a girl initially, but just now you used “her” to refer to yourself in the third person. How should I refer to you?”</p><p> </p><p>             “As Mordred, jackass.” She rested her head in her hands, turning a growl into a rough sigh. “It’s not -- I’m me. I’m a knight and I worked <em> really </em> hard for that kind of respect.”</p><p> </p><p>             “Of course. If I’ve been anything less than respectful, I apologize sincerely. But as you so eloquently pointed out, we are not our past. The versions of the people we knew have been left behind, and if we want to keep growing, we need to reconcile our memories with the reality in front of us. Well, I do, at any rate.” He leaned back against the bench, thankfully not trying to touch or comfort her or anything. “Lancelot is who he is, but not <em> my </em> Lancelot. Cu Chulainn is who I knew him to be, but there are many other versions of him that I can’t treat as more or less true. You… are Mordred, and you are a son to your Arthur, but just a companion to me. And I want to see you as you wish to be seen, so when I ask you for your pronouns, know it’s for my clarification, and not a question or attack on your personhood.”</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred… really didn’t know how to respond to that.</p><p> </p><p>             Her father answered her unasked question. “I spent a deal of time in the 20th century before coming here. The memories seem like dreams to me now, but my master and her world touched me in many ways. She explained certain shifts in cultural values that I needed to know to be polite. Again, I apologize if this feels like an interrogation, but you deserve to be treated with courtesy.”</p><p> </p><p>             “No, it’s cool.” She took a few moments to breath and collect herself. “I like… I like when you call me son, even if -- you know. But I’m still a woman, so, yeah, people should say she and her when referring to me. Uhhh, I think that’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>             Arthur nodded, and they sat there for a few moments in companionable silence until Mordred spoke again, very quietly. “I don’t think any of the other Artorias would have done that for me.”</p><p> </p><p>             He pulled her sidelong into a hug, and she wasn’t immediately repulsed by it. “Well then, I suppose that makes me the best by default.”</p><p> </p><p>             She snorted. “Oh yeah, totally. Helps that you’re flatter than I am, too.”</p><p> </p><p>             “Hmm, indeed. You’re superior to me in that area at least.” He laughed softly. “I think… it’s up to you, but you should inform any others who matter to you how you would like to be addressed. And extend the same courtesy to others who are… unsure, perhaps.” </p><p> </p><p>             She hummed noncommittally. “Mmmm… I’ll think ‘bout it. Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>             There was another beat of silence. “Now, with all <em> that </em> out of the way, there is a question I’ve been dying to ask since we met; are you dating anybody yet?”</p><p> </p><p>             Mordred felt her entire face burn up, turning red all at once. “Wh-what!?”</p><p> </p><p>             “Weeeell, I don’t mean to pry, but -- I’m not getting any younger, Mordred. I want grandchildren.”</p><p> </p><p>             “Y-- You’re literally ageless! You’re carrying a fountain of youth on your hip!”</p><p> </p><p>             “Son, there comes a time in every man’s life --” </p><p> </p><p>             She shoved against his chest, trying not to laugh. “I take it back. You’re literally the worst. I hope your cattle get stolen by hooligans in the night.”</p><p> </p><p>             “I’ve got an obligation to protect you against people who would take advantage of you! You’re considerably cuter than my Mordred, and there are a lot of pretty boys who’d try to break your heart.” He paused for a moment. “Pretty girls…?”</p><p> </p><p>             She couldn’t see her face, but she imagined it was about the same shade of red as her clothing. “A-Arthur -- !”</p><p> </p><p>             “Aha! So there <em> is </em> somebody!” He pointed a finger at her half-accusatory, half-triumphant. “Is it just a crush, or have you started courting this young lady yet?”<br/><br/></p><p>             “Oh my god!!! I’m going to kill you again! I’m going to find, just, a big-ass rock --”</p><p> </p><p>             They continued to bicker pleasantly with each other, and it was exceedingly comfortable, and entirely new.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>me: gosh, this fic about Mordred addressing her precarious relationship with her gender as it pertains to her status as knight and heir, while talking to the one version of her father who didn’t struggle with those things... it's interesting, but it’s missing something…</p><p>me, snorting a line of ritalin:</p><p>me, desperately cranking out thousands of words of fic back to bcak because i forgot to crush up ambien in my breakfast: how about several hundred words more or less completely rewriting Arthur’s backstory to be a reference to Excalibur (1981), one of the best movies ever made and also the quintessential movie of Arthurian legend????? so good Monty Python literally made an entire movie parodying it (among other things that were’nt Excalibutt (1981) and therefore irrelevant)????</p><p>me, peeling off my human flesh to reveal an advanced artificial intelligence whose sole purpose is to talk about Excalibur (1981), Drive (2011), and occasionally write erotica: P E R F E C T</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. It's Fran</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Short, wholesome, I just wanted to give some screen time </p><p>(Deeply sorry! I posted this to the wrong fic aaaaaahh)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>             Mordred took a deep breath, then opened the door. “Hey Fran, I’ve got something important to tell you --” </p><p> </p><p>             The red-haired berserker perked up as soon as Mordred entered their “shared” bedroom, letting out a short, sharp, “Ohh!” She heard Fran intonate underneath the audible (in the half-implication, half-telepathy that only Mordred, Master, and a handful of others knew how to listen for), <em> Yes, okay! Me first, though! </em></p><p> </p><p>             Mordred’s train of thought screeched to a halt. Fran wanting to talk awas very, very rare, and an event to be cherished, even more so if she felt strongly enough to interrupt Mordred. “Uh, y-yeah! Go on, then.”</p><p> </p><p>             She sat upright, brushing her messy bangs aside to reveal those sparkling two-tone eyes. “Ahh.” <em> I’ve been doing some talking and thinking. If it’s okay, I want you to use “they/them” for talking about me, please. </em> She smiled and tilted her head to the side. “I-ahh, grr.” <em> It’s okay if you still want to call me your “girlfriend”, though~. </em></p><p> </p><p>             “Well, that’s -- that’s really great, Fran,” she said, a little surprised. “A-and of course, I’m cool calling you anything you’d like! I… actually came to tell you something similar.”</p><p> </p><p>             “Unh?”</p><p> </p><p>             “Y-yeah, in a sec. First… who were you talking to about this stuff?”</p><p> </p><p>             Fran beamed at her. “Ahh, mrrr. Unnrrr, suh brr urr.” <em>There was this nice man I met during lunch! He was very kind, even though I could tell he couldn’t understand everything I was saying. He was telling me about his son, and a conversation they had had about identity.</em> <em>I thought he might have been a Saber… </em>She paused, and looked at Mordred carefully. <em>He was dressed in blue, and carried a gold sword. Do you know him?</em></p><p> </p><p>             Mordred sighed. Truly, she had the devil’s own luck. “Yeah… that’s… Arthur. He’s one of my dads, but, like, one of the cool ones. He’ll probably want to meet you at some point --”</p><p> </p><p>             “WHA!” Fran practically exploded off the bed and tackled Mordred to the floor, talking excitedly about meeting her <em> father, what???, how exciting! </em></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me: gosh, this fic about Mordred addressing her precarious relationship with her gender as it pertains to her status as knight and heir, while talking to the one version of her father who didn’t struggle with those things... it's interesting, but it’s missing something…</p>
<p>me, snorting a line of ritalin:</p>
<p>me, desperately cranking out thousands of words of fic back to bcak because i forgot to crush up ambien in my breakfast: how about several hundred words more or less completely rewriting Arthur’s backstory to be a reference to Excalibur (1981), one of the best movies ever made and also the quintessential movie of Arthurian legend????? so good Monty Python literally made an entire movie parodying it (among other things that were’nt Excalibutt (1981) and therefore irrelevant)????</p>
<p>me, peeling off my human flesh to reveal an advanced artificial intelligence whose sole purpose is to talk about Excalibur (1981), Drive (2011), and occasionally write erotica: P E R F E C T</p></blockquote></div></div>
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